Walk Slowly At My Burial

a poem

take the pace out of step,

the black beetle crunches over gravel,

a block of ice, stupid silence

carried like a china cup

nearly down, a ring of flowers

the first prize,packed like a gift ;

six strong men are needed to carry

my boxed bag of bones,

flaps of skin and the old-man smell.

Hold on. A moth in a lampshade

couldn`t bruise its wings less;

scared of a fall into cold loam.

Reviews

[Ruth]

To have the respect deserved...when that times arrives...the moth is a beautiful reference here hon x

[John Alexander McFadyen]

Do not go quietly......The black beetle shoes of undertakers and the ritual of the funeral are empty of all passion, devoid of meaning but for the disposal of a spent corpse. The feeling is this was palpable!

[Tina Kline]

A very compelling poem. Well done.
Its dark and somber, kind of sad.
I enjoyed reading your poem.

[Emily B]

no box, no bones, just a little bucket to carry the ashes out into the wind

[Angi]

Leslie, the images this provokes are somber ones until I get to the last. I can see hands flexing inside that box, trying to catch a purchase. My breath catches and I silently cheer him on. Well written, man. Angi~

[Frieda P]

The imagery here is staggering, last stanza did me in....'scared of a fall into cold loam', that about wraps it up....outstanding read, although very glum.

[Coyote Song]

A very creative poem. It has an ominous and final feeling to it. Dark yet sad. Outstanding imagery. And it does have, at least for me, a powerful emotional impact.

[Ken Simm.]

This approaches the subject from all sorts of angles. Giving it a texture that is almost woven in its complexity. I like it enormously.